


Doctor's Orders

by CourierNinetyTwo



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Breathplay, Erotic Electrostimulation, F/F, Light BDSM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-07 22:05:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6826606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CourierNinetyTwo/pseuds/CourierNinetyTwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of the hardest things to do after a battle was relax.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write some top!doc after a discussion with friends. Pharah/Mercy is part one, Mercy/Zarya will be part two.

One of the hardest things to do after a battle was relax.  
  
Mercy understood the reasons why, both psychologically and physiologically, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t something she could do about it, especially for warriors in her favor.  
  
This wasn’t triage, with the quick slide of trauma shears and makeshift examination tables. She could take her time and set the proper stage – it was called an operating _theater_ , after all – that would suit her patient’s needs best. Restraints were the most common feature in Mercy’s experience, heavy and padded but strong enough to hold the average super-soldier in place – with prior and enthusiastic consent, of course.  
  


–  
  
Pharah had a taste for electricity, something Mercy was happy to provide in spades. When applied to one’s back, the average TENS unit could assist in assuaging sore muscles, but there was an incredible amount of room for experimentation. After a few sessions, Mercy found it was best to split the sensation between Pharah’s abdomen and her clit, where the rebounding stimulation made for the delicious flex of sculpted muscle, not to mention an impressive amount of noise.  
  
She turned the unit up one more notch, watching as Pharah’s back arched off the table, pulling against the very limits of the cuffs around her wrists. Sweat dripped down bronze skin while her hips bucked against the constant pulse, offering a relentless and phantom touch. Taut muscle flexed along powerful thighs, down to the defined diamond shape of her calves, and Mercy made a pleased comment on the edge of her notes before hearing a strained, “Doctor–”  
  
“Is everything alright, Fareeha?” Slipping her pen back onto the clipboard, Mercy put her hand over the TENS control, ready to kill the power in an instant. “Are you experiencing pain or discomfort?”  
  
That earned a roll of dark eyes, followed by a shake of Pharah’s head. With no safeword uttered and the unceasing twitch of her hips, Mercy found it appropriate to turn the unit up one more notch. Pharah spit a curse in Arabic, ragged breaths building to a fever pitch before she finally let go, release spent in slick heat that slowly trickled down her thighs and mixed with sweat.  
  
Mercy immediately switched off the electricity, unable to hide a smile of amusement at Pharah’s breathless chain of curses. She’d learned enough Arabic while working with Médecins Sans Frontières to make out the rough meaning, and leaned over to gently stroke Pharah’s cheek, clean white latex tracing below the decoration that curved under her eye.  
  
“Do you feel better?” She asked, taking her own distinct satisfaction in seeing the soldier so spent, limbs loose with languor.  
  
“Much better.” Once the cuffs around her wrists were undone, Pharah sat up and peeled the first set of leads from her stomach, then the second set with far more care. “Did they ever ask why you requisitioned one of these in the middle of a warzone?”  
  
Mercy let out a high laugh, eyes bright with delight. “No, darling. They trust my extensive medical expertise.”  
  
“Mm, well so do I.” One powerful hand captured her chin, drawing Mercy forward into a deep kiss. “Thank you.”  
  
“My pleasure.” She murmured against Pharah’s lips.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the Mercy/Zarya half. Warnings for breathplay.

In contrast, Zarya’s had a very private desire for asphyxiation, or ‘breathplay’ as it seemed to be called in common parlance. Regardless of the terminology, it was always something Mercy did with exacting care, which meant using the most reliable tool she had in her arsenal – a pair of steady surgeon’s hands.  
  
There were a few extra precautions as well, although Mercy would be lying if she said they were entirely for Zarya’s benefit. Tracking a patient’s vitals had many different and useful applications, although her favorite one was watching for the spike in heart rate as adrenaline and endorphins did their work.

The restraints on her exam table were more for show when it came to Zarya – and the cuffs only fit at the very last notch – but it served as a reminder for the soldier to try and keep still, even if she was perfectly capable of ripping the chains right from their mooring. Zarya always warmed up with a bit of a struggle while Mercy watched, noting the readings climb on her vitals with a satisfied smile.  
  
“Are you ready, Aleksandra?” She asked, setting her clipboard aside and donning a new set of gloves with a calculated snap.  
  
Zarya’s response was a grunt of agreement, broad shoulders taut with eager tension. Latex-clad fingers offered the muscle there a few cursory touches; it was impossible not to be impressed by such dedication to fitness, pushing the limits of what the human body could achieve. Mercy had the name of every muscle memorized, but whenever Zarya flexed her 'guns’ and posed, all that information often went right out of her head.  
  
But there would be more time to appreciate that later. “Say your safeword for me.”  
  
“Siberia.” Zarya replied, hands clenching into fists and relaxing over and over as the anticipation built.  
  
“And tap the table twice hard if you can’t speak.” Mercy’s fingers splayed across the base of Zarya’s throat, waiting for a nod of confirmation.  
  
Her grip had to be very precise, not just to fit around the impressive width of Zarya’s neck, but to ensure she didn’t compress the larynx and cause actual harm. Thankfully Mercy had plenty of practice, and the eager jump of Zarya’s pulse under her fingertips was lovely encouragement.  
  
The first squeeze was deliberate and slow, pressure building by degrees until she heard a hitch of breath, and the next was trapped against the palm of her hand. Mercy counted the seconds in her head – ten seconds on, ten seconds off – until Zarya’s face began to flush pink from both arousal and exertion. Of course, both her aerobic and anaerobic capacity was world-class, but there was only so much that strength could do when deprived of vital oxygen.  
  
Which was exactly the point. To be allowed to surrender in a safe place, without fear of the enemy, was a hard-won privilege anywhere, but especially with the lives they lead. One Mercy was happy to assist with, after a mumbled and thickly accented request. Now it was ten seconds on and only five off, the shorter break allowing the intensity to ramp up as Zarya started to twist against the cuffs, biting down hard on her lip until it was a vibrant red.  
  
Mercy’s other hand started to work its way downward, palming Zarya’s breasts and feeling the weight before offering a light squeeze to each. It was a teasing touch to be sure, but there was only so much stimulation she needed to add while Zarya was thoroughly distracted by absent breath. Even through her gloves, Mercy could feel the slick trace of sweat between defined abdominals, following that groove down between barrel-thick thighs. Without the second set of cuffs binding her ankles, the instantaneous flex of striated muscle would have crushed Mercy’s hand the second she drew her fingers between damp curls.  
  
“Excited, darling?” The question was laced with amusement as Mercy’s other hand gripped tight, preventing any answer but a ragged gasp.  
  
She had to maintain a careful rhythm as not to lose track of the count, although the occasional beep from the heart monitor kept Mercy’s focus razor-sharp while her fingers circled Zarya’s clit, quick and precise. This measured sort of asphyxiation could only be drawn out so long without heightening the risk, but if the volume of Zarya’s choked moans were any indication, her methods were nothing short of a roaring success.  
  
When Zarya came, the orgasm was so intense Mercy expected the chains attached to the table to snap, but the threatening creak died back down as soon as wide shoulders relaxed, leaving her panting for breath. Both of Mercy’s hands stalled, examining her with a critical eye before gently massaging the line of Zarya’s throat, although it didn’t look like it would bruise.  
  
“Did you record that one?” Zarya asked, slowly rolling her wrists when they were freed.  
  
A faint pink flush tapered up Mercy’s cheekbones. “I always do when I have permission, Aleksandra.”  
  
Metal clinked as Zarya undid the ankle cuffs as well, flashing a broad grin. “I hope I give a good show.”  
  
“One of the best in the world.” Mercy admitted, quietly clearing her throat before leaning over to kiss Zarya’s cheek. “Eight hours of rest and call me in the morning, please.”  
  
“Yes, ma'am.” The examination table squeaked as Zarya swung her feet over the side and stood up, reaching for the towel folded next to her armor.  
  
It was just as enjoyable to watch her put it back on.


End file.
